


The Very Last Dance

by Emilys_List



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Four Weddings and a Funeral - Freeform, Infidelity, M/M, Wakes & Funerals, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-07-12 09:35:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7097074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emilys_List/pseuds/Emilys_List
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt's in his twenties and it seems like everyone is getting married -- except for him. When he meets gorgeous Blaine Anderson at a wedding, there's a spark. (That night, there's more than just a spark.) Their paths continue to cross over the course of many weddings and, sadly, a funeral. Are they meant to be, despite terrible timing?</p>
<p>A <i>Four Weddings and A Funeral</i> AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. If you sexy and you know it, clap your hands

**Author's Note:**

> Yo, right away, a huge shoutout to [Wowbright](http://wowbright.tumblr.com): for asking amazing questions, knowing what needs tweaking, and throwing down words of encouragement that'll keep one editing into the night. THANK YOU!

**Santana + Brittany**

"Fuck!" is out of Kurt's mouth before he even opens his eyes. He senses he's late before looking at the clock. "Fuck," he says as he confirms it, clambering out of bed. "Fuck!" he hears from Rachel's room down the hall.

Outside of form, he didn’t pack last night. Too many mangotinis, or whatever Rachel had sorrowfully created to 'burn my breakup from my brain.' Now they have a flight to Indiana which is theirs to miss. He packs hastily, a fashion sin right below wearing white after Labor Day, muttering "fuck" as he does; his suit for the wedding in a garment bag, products for hair and body, formal casual wear, shoes in their proper shoe bags, pajamas. Then, as an afterthought, condoms and lube. It's a lesbian wedding that'll largely be attended by his mostly straight high school friends, but one never knows, so in they go just in case.

He's done packing, peeling out of his room so fast he's sure his suitcase wheels are aflame. Rachel is waiting at the front door, with her coat already on. "Fuck," she says, looking tired and anxious. "Fuck," he agrees. They split a Xanax when they hit traffic in the cab and check in on their phones. Rachel nervously plays with a necklace that Finn gave her; she always wears it as a good luck charm when she travels, as if Finn is looking down and protecting her.

"Fuck!" Kurt runs behind Rachel through security, begging the TSA agent to let them cut the line, so close to missing their flight. Blessedly she does, mad and bored as she lets them cut the line. 

When they clear the machine -- "hands above your head, stay still" -- and a gentle pat down for Kurt, they take off at a sprint, shoes still off, gunning for their gate. 

"Fuck!" Rachel yells, so loud as to startle a very blonde family with small children. The gate agents check them in, frowning, and they run down the jetway, squeezing up the aisle to their seats. He's sweating through his Marc by Marc shirt. Fuck.

They're in a middle and aisle seat, slumped together from the exertion. He flips his phone and then hers to airplane mode as the captain tells them they're going to be delayed. "Fuckity fuck fuck," she mutters, and he laughs.

He closes his eyes, leaning his head back, as his brain strains with a hangover. He's asleep as the plane takes to the sky, finally lulled by the pharmaceuticals.

In Fort Wayne they pick up their rental car. It's inexplicably a purple Cadillac, the only car left for them when their reservation was nowhere to be found. "Fuck," Kurt spits out. Rachel drives, and he navigates them toward a barn in Indiana where Brittany S. Pierce took in her first gasps of life, where she'll take her first breaths as a married woman. It's romantic, he supposes, but he's pushed out of his revelry as they miss their exit. 

"Fuuuuck," Rachel exhales as she swerves and barely makes the exit, causing a wave of honks behind them.

Rachel steers them down the narrow lane and toward a barn with matching buildings. They change into their clothes behind the car, and as he’s sliding into his Paul Smith trousers he hears a wolf whistle. He turns and groans, "Thanks a lot, Santana," and is struck by how beautiful she is in her creamy white gown, and how uncharacteristically scared she looks. He buckles his belt and loops his jacket onto his arms, joining her and Mr. Lopez. He shakes his hand and hugs Santana hard, like the way she loves.

He yanks Rachel into the barn as "At Last" plays, and they find seats in the back. It's beautiful, lit with strings of white lights and brightened with flowers. If they weren't so late he'd be enchanted. 

He scans. Artie and Tina on the side. Quinn and Puck toward the front. Sam next to a devastatingly handsome man -- maybe he's finally being honest with himself about his sexuality? Mike. And Mercedes!

Brittany walks down the aisle with her dad, looking fabulous in a boho dress, and then it's Santana's turn. He watches her eyes ease and water when she sees Brittany, and his throat closes for a second at all the love. 

The ceremony is brief and gorgeous. "I am a work in progress," they each say to the other in their vows, and kiss like it’s their last day on earth together. He wipes a tear away and hands a handkerchief to a soluble Rachel.

Cocktail hour takes place outside. He leans against a hay bale as he drinks champagne and catches up with his friends. He's hanging on Mercedes until he sees that man again, the one with Sam. He looks deadly attractive in a slim cut light grey suit with a white dress shirt. He sighs. "The good ones are always taken."

She glances in the same eyeline and shakes her head. "Sam's not -- you know, you're worse than those Obama birth certificate people." She cups her hands and fakes a yell into his ear, "He's straight, I know from my own two lips." 

He smirks at her from over the brim of his champagne glass. "In any case, who is that man he's with, clearly on a date?"

She rolls her eyes. "I met him earlier. He knows Santana, though I'm not sure how, and he and Sam are friends. But he's definitely your tribe, honey. And he does something with music, in London."

Kurt's ears perk at that. Olive skinned with tousled dark curls and a fabulous body, and there's a music connection. "Bye, Mercedes! Please go distract Sam, or something!" he calls as he sprints away to the bar.

He collects two champagne flutes and walks back toward Olive and Curly, who's off to the side looking at his phone. "Hey," Kurt calls. The man looks up with gorgeous eyes flecked with gold. People go to war over less. "Want one of these?" Kurt asks, coming closer. "I got one for my friend, but she's nowhere to be found."

The Stunner nods, smiling. "Sure, thank you." Despite living in London, he's an American.

Standing closer to him, the spark of his crush grows. He’s beautiful, but there's something else, too. On a cellular level, on a cosmic level, in his soul. They are magnets, opposites attracting. He's about to ask, 'Hey, are you picking this up, too?' when Gorgeous Smile asks, "So, are you a friend of the bride or... bride?" 

Kurt smiles. What a dork. "I see what you did there," he says, clinking his glass with his. "I went to high school with them, so, both."

The other man's eyes brighten. "Oh, wow! Let me guess: cheerleading?" 

Kurt narrows his eyes and asks back, "Excuse me?" 

The man waves his hand and takes a glug of champagne. "No, just, I know she was in glee club and cheerleading, and you're -- well -- you have a great body." He cringes after the words are done tumbling out. "So creepy," Dark and Handsome says into his glass, shaking his head. 

Kurt is flattered, and he says so, quietly, his words building a tentative bridge. He hopes. "I was actually in both, but we know each other best from--"

"Kurt! Hey, buddy!" Mr. Pierce says, clapping a hand on his shoulder, that permanent grin on his face. "Gosh, it's so good to see ya. It's been forever." Kurt nods and smiles, shaking his hand, and mentally piercing him with a fork. "This is Brittany's dad. Mr. Pierce, this is--" Huh. 

"Blaine Anderson," Blaine Anderson says, shaking Mr. Pierce's hand. "I work with your new daughter-in-law. Congratulations on today." Blaine. Blane from Pretty in Pink. Rick Blaine from Casablanca. This Blaine, from in front of him.

"Thanks so much," Mr. Pierce says, then turns back to Kurt. "I love Santana, but you and Brit were a good match, huh? What fell out for you two?" Blaine laughs out loud, but stops when he sees Mr. Pierce's totally serious face. "I'm sure you've got all the girls chasing you down. Have you locked in anybody special yet?" 

Kurt shakes his head, casting the briefest of looks to Blaine. Blaine Anderson. "Also, Mr. Pierce, Brittany and I didn't work out because we dated for two days in high school, and I'm gay." 

Mr. Pierce shakes his head. "Still. You're a good one, Kurt. You two could have been something. So how's New York?" Blaine smiles at Kurt before he excuses himself, and Kurt watches him go, his eyes steady on Blaine.

In lieu of speeches, they sing, of course. Kurt and Rachel are first up. She gives teary remarks about everlasting love that has Kurt in hives until he tears the microphone out of her hands. "Thanks, Rachel. So, before we begin -- in just a second -- I want to say, Brittany and Santana have an inspiring love. Being gay in Lima is no picnic, and though I never found love like they did, it was a shining beacon to see how it could be." He watches them at their sweetheart table, sitting close, their hands tangled. They look drunk on each other. "I am in sheer... awe... of their commitment to each other today. It gives me hope. And without further ado."

He signals to the band, who kicks them off. " _I was alone, I took a ride, I didn't know what I would find there._ " They sing "Got To Get You Into My Life," and he works the crowd like it's the old days, like he's still singing professionally. He catches Blaine's eye and casts off a saucy grin in his direction. He's so sexy. He's so sexy it's offensive. He tears himself away, lest it seem like he's singing his heart out to him alone, and he and Rachel finish the song with a flourish, arms around each other. Loud cheering meets the split second of silence and Kurt grins. His eye wanders. Blaine is clapping and whooping, and running his eyes up and down Kurt's body. He runs offstage back to his table before he gets an erection in public.

Mercedes and Sam croon to "Love Is All Around," improving on the song hugely with Mercedes's vocal runs. They're giving each other such Looks, putting their on-again, off-again energy to work. Kurt looks around to his other friends, to see if they're noticing too, but his eyes lock on Puck and Quinn having a whispered argument, her eyes flashing and his rolling. He shushes them, annoyed, and turns back to the stage.

The Troubletones, including both brides, reunite to sing "Chapel of Love" to close out the talent portion of the evening, and they sound like an angelic girl group from the 60s. It's gorgeous and perfect, and Kurt sways along. The ending, unfortunately, is marred by loud shouting. He turns his head and sees Puck and Quinn stalking off in opposite directions. He sees matching grimaces around their table.

But then the dancing kicks off, and he's got enough liquor in his system to make him believe that he's phenomenally kinesthetic. He rocks out to 112's "Dance With Me," with Blaine in his sight line. Blaine is a much better dancer, his hips swaying in measured, weighted bounces. Kurt can't stop watching him. At one point Blaine sort of turns his back while he keeps dancing, and he looks over his shoulder. When he catches Kurt's eye, he winks. Winks! That should be abhorrent, not hot. And then it gets worse because the " _If you sexy and you know it, clap your hands_ " part of the song rings out, and Blaine actually claps. It's awful but true, and arousing, and Kurt jumps off the dance floor in need of a break.

Puck is drowning his sorrows at the bar when Kurt reaches him. He raises a glass and turns to order for Kurt. Kurt frowns. "I don't want a tequila shot." 

"Too bad, man," Puck says, taking his shot and pushing the other glass on Kurt. 

He sips it. "I heard you and Quinn. Sounded bad," he says, to open a door if Puck wants it.

He claps a hand on Kurt's shoulder. "It's the end of the road. It's looked like the end before, but this time is really it." He polishes off Kurt's shot without permission and stares into space as he muses, "We're too different. Too different for it to work." Kurt nods, he heard it, but Blaine's jumping around on the dance floor with Sam. Blaine looks like pure joy is coursing through his body. "But enough of that, because I think you're cruising for dick."

Kurt winces at what Puck said. "So crude."

"Well?"

Kurt's not sure what he's cruising for, exactly. He only knows he's not sure how to do it. "How does someone," he starts to ask, then shakes his head. "How do you see someone you like, and then say, 'Hey, babe. I want to get to know you better.'"

"Well, you want to be me, for one," Puck says unhelpfully. "Look, I know you have a whole royal family, stiff neck vibe, but don't gay guys -- I mean -- come on. And you're not bad looking. I'm sure you know how."

Kurt flushes deep in his cheeks, feeling like the flames will never go away. He doesn't. That isn't to say he's a virgin or has been boyfriendless, but anything passionate in his life was usually the result of tumbling into someone sideways. "I was being rhetorical," Kurt says defensively.

A big drunk grin spreads on Puck's face as he forces him into a high five. "'Course, man. Knew you had it in you." He sobers slightly to say, almost philosophically, "Or, in someone else. You get it, dude."

Kurt goes outside to clear his head, affected as it's been by a steady diet of liquor and desserts all night, and walks right toward Quinn when he spies her. She's got her hands in the pockets of her shiny fit and flare dress as she looks out across farmland. "Don't get scared, it's just me," he warns and she turns, nodding.

"Thanks. Is he still getting loaded?"

He doesn't answer but asks instead, "What happened?" In the moonlight, with scant light escaping from the barn, Quinn glows. If he was straight, it would probably be someone like her who captured his heart. Which is definitely the tequila talking.

She opens her mouth, but closes it, shaking her head and letting the tears fall. He puts an arm around her. "I can't do it anymore. He wants someone entirely different. I'm not it. And I'm done trying to be something someone needs." She looks so tough and worn, unfair to her young age. He remembers her pink hair phase fondly. Better angry than bitter. He squeezes her tight. "I need you all tonight," she says. "You should stay at my family's lake house. Well, it's more like a lake mansion. Lots of room." He and Rachel are booked at The Boatman, a little B&B in town, but a lake mansion sounds good, especially if Quinn can use the support. He's Team Quinn all the way. She wipes at her makeup. "I need to pull it together. See you in a few?"

He nods and takes up her pondering. Illuminated by the moon, the field stretches verdant for the longest while until it slowly slopes upward. He follows the lines with his eyes, his designer eye, and thinks of Derek Lam’s collection last year when he hears, "Hey."

He turns and it's him. Blaine. Kurt smiles and says, "Hi." Then, “We kind of got interrupted before."

Blaine smiles and his eyes are flirty when he asks, "What did you want to talk to me about?" Kurt's eyes drop to Blaine's mouth, then pop right back up to his eyes, where he sees he’s been caught. Blaine continues, "Anyway, I'm -- off. Just wanted to say it was nice to sort of meet you."

Kurt shakes his head. This won't do. His stomach starts to turn, urging him on. "Where are you going?" he asks. "The night is still young."

Blaine runs a hand through his hair. "I think we both know that's a big lie," he replies, with maybe a tendril of regret in his voice, maybe. "But, uh, where are you staying? I'm at The Boatman," Blaine says, his eyes sweeping lower than eye level. Fuck. 

"I'm actually staying with a friend. She had a rough breakup tonight." Stupid strong, meaningful friendships. 

Blaine nods slowly. "Sorry to hear that." He smiles at Kurt and he's so dazzled, literally weak kneed. "Again, nice meeting you, Kurt. Have a good night." And then he's off. Kurt shakes his head at his awful luck, walking back into the barn to see Mercedes catch the bouquet. He tries to applaud.

Someone awesome got them a shuttle to Quinn's place and as they barrel through town, Kurt holds back from the boisterous Beyoncé sing along. A first. He knows he's needed, and with friends, but his attention is being pulled to what -- and who -- he knows is nearby. He's not strong enough to stop the voice that rears up and says "I'm sorry" to Quinn, who seems okay anyway perched in Mike's lap.

"For what?" she asks, her cheeks rosy and her eyes soft. Drunk, or someone slipped her a pot brownie. Either way he kisses her cheek and charges to the front of the bus. 

"I’m getting off here for the evening. At The Boatman, please?" He takes a deep breath and climbs the sprawling Victorian’s short staircase, and he's in, greeted by the co-owner Kathy with a warm smile. She says she'll be right back and directs him to the front parlor, where his eyes catch on Blaine, drinking something from a tumbler and sitting in front of the fire. Good luck after all. He looks up and grins at Kurt, looking pleased and surprised. "What happened to your friend? Not broken up with after all?"

He shakes his head, walking forward, his head down. "There's enough of us to help." He looks up and bites his lower lip. "What are you dri--"

But Blaine shakes his head and hides behind a chair. Kurt almost laughs out loud. "What the--" 

He gets it when a man comes in behind him, an abomination of an older gay man with bleached teeth and tan skin and definitely, absolutely Botox pulling his face taut. "Hi," the man says curiously. "Was there a guy down here? Gorgeous, sort of short, looks like he'd be a lot of fun?"

Kurt doesn't know why he's offended by that, because those are all things he's thought of Blaine tonight -- but still. He peers behind the chair and finds him curiously gone. "Uh, nope," Kurt says cheerfully, cheerful until he realizes he's being assessed in Blaine's place. 

"You were at the wedding," the man says. "I remember your voice. Surprisingly high, but nice." 

Kurt winces and tosses out a "thanks." 

The man settles into a wing chair and looks him up and down. "It's great to see family get married," he says, using 'family' in the LGBTQ community sense of the word, Kurt deduces, "but I'm old fashioned. I still believe in kissing a lot of princes. You know?" He winks.

Kurt is about to tell him he's not interested, and he's about to use a lot of profanity to make his point, when Kathy interrupts. "Excuse me, but your husband is asking you to come upstairs. Room three, in case you forgot."

"My husband," Kurt says slowly. Kathy gives him another look, a 'get there quicker.' "Oh, my husband!" he exclaims. She gives him a demure smile and walks down the hall.

"Look," the man says sternly. "I know what I just said, but I'm no home wrecker. If you're married, be married. You should have said something." Kurt would love to burn him and his overinflated ego, but instead he nods dazedly and walks upstairs to room three. He hesitates, but he knocks, because he wants to see what’s behind that door.

Blaine opens the door a crack so that Kurt can only see a slice of his face. When he sees it’s Kurt and Kurt alone, he opens the door all the way and smiles. “Did it go okay?”

“Husband?” Kurt asks.

Blaine pulls him inside, replying, “I figured it would shut him down.” He sits on the edge of the high four poster bed, swinging his legs and looking boyish. “Did it?” he asks. Kurt nods and looks around the room. Refinished pine wood floors and chocolate walls and too many pillows. A hardshell suitcase neatly tucked into a corner. “But, you should stay up here. Just, like, make it feel real.” Blaine sounds like he’s trying at confidence, and Kurt knows all about that. 

He slides a smile toward Blaine. “Make it real?” he asks. Blaine beckons him forward and he goes so fast. He stands between Blaine's knees, looking down at that sweet mouth. “What are husbands like?” Kurt asks, his voice low. He drops his hands on Blaine’s shoulders, curling his hands into his shirt collar, and almost immediately Blaine is reaching up, cupping Kurt’s cheeks and pulling him in for a kiss. Kurt melts and Blaine holds him.

They undress slowly, their earlier flirting giving way to possibility. The bedside light stays on as they roll each other into bed. Kurt kisses along Blaine's body, from the bony knob on the inside of his ankle, up muscular calves and thighs, across the muscled cut from his hip jutting down toward his dick. A hairy chest. He flips him over to continue the exam, the mapping of skin and body: behind his knees, the firm cheeks of his ass, until Blaine mumbles, “I’m going to come right now if you don’t stop.” Kurt halts in his tracks and laughs softly into his skin.

He turns Blaine over and sees his cock harder than before. It’s gorgeous, curling in toward his belly. He puts unsafe lips to its head because he can’t stop himself, and Blaine lets out a strangled moan. Kurt holds his hips down as best as he can, as Blaine yanks on his hair. "Oh, god," he says, his voice low and clear. "That's so good. Maybe you should be my husband." Kurt smiles, even with his mouth stretched, and adds a hand to the base of Blaine's dick. "I'm going to," Blaine says, but doesn't finish his sentence, and doesn’t do whatever he anticipated. Instead, he moans, and Kurt thrusts his own hips against the bed. He wants, and wants, and he grinds against the sheets. He'd like to keep doing this forever, but he thinks there might be better things on the horizon. He slides off and Blaine whimpers.

Kurt shimmies up his body, his cock dragging against skin as he goes, kissing him. More whimpers. "What if this was a honeymoon?" Kurt asks into Blaine's ear. "What would we do next?" As close as he's getting Blaine, Kurt can tell he likes a game.

"I don't know," Blaine says between kisses, his hands rubbing and cupping Kurt's ass. "It would depend on my husband, and whether he wants to be inside me or not." They share a look, and Blaine's earlier confidence is replaced by coyness, confidence's more sluttier cousin. Kurt goes hot all over, and maybe he blacks out for a second. The offer is a welcome one, but he's unaccustomed to doing this casually, usually saving it for somewhere around the fourth date. But Blaine is looking at him with such fire and spark. It's making all of Kurt's better angels fly out the window. 

"I don't know how he wouldn't," he finally says. He sucks kisses into the soft curve of Blaine's neck, his hand wrapping around his dick. He can feel Blaine's warm, whiskey breath against his skin. "Do you -- have? Uh?" Kurt can't string words together, let alone the key ones for this moment. 

"I do," Blaine replies, "but I don't want you to get up." He tightens arms and legs around Kurt, squeezing their bodies together. Kurt groans. He doesn't want to get up either, but there's only one thing he wants more. He kisses Blaine's neck before untangling himself from his embrace. "Bathroom," Blaine says with a sigh. "My dopp kit. Hurry back, please."

Kurt rushes out of bed and to the bathroom, pawing through the small leather bag. There are a lot of condoms in there, like a lot, a long string of square foil packs, as well as a half-full bottle of lube. It paints a picture, and Kurt takes a second to consider himself in the mirror. It's unlike him to do this. He's only just met this man. And yet they have a connection and he's crazy hot, and they're naked already, and that's enough to rev him back up, out of the bathroom and back into Blaine's arms.

He preps him slowly as they kiss, so much kissing his mouth is sure to be raw by morning. Blaine writhes underneath him, begging softly for more, and Kurt gives him everything he asks for. "Now," Blaine begs breathily into his ear. "Right now, can't wait, I'm ready."

Those words go right to his dick. His muscles are stupid, his hands clumsily groping for a condom and more lube. He sits back on his heels, Blaine's legs spread on either side of him. 

"What's the best way for this to go?" Kurt says, his eyes diverted to Blaine's clavicle as he slides the condom on, afraid of coming in an instant, everything too hot. Blaine tugs him down so he's stretched gloriously on top of him, Blaine's hard cock edging against him. He spreads his legs even wider and Kurt feels like he's losing his mind. He pushes inside of him slowly and all cogent thoughts leave him. All he knows are the soft noises Blaine is making, his own groan, and the feel of Blaine's tight ass around him. Blaine clutches at him again, like before, and then he's seated all the way inside of him. Kurt takes a breath. 

"You have to move, you have to," Blaine pants. So he does, pulling out, then thrusting back in, bracing himself on his forearms and kissing him again. He's spiraling out of control, but he does his best to keep his hips steady, trying not to come immediately. Blaine keeps tightening his grip on Kurt, cursing and sweating, and he takes his own cock in hand. Watching him do that, getting two sorts of pleasure, makes Kurt moan and his hips stop their sure trajectory. He thrusts in at a deeper angle and Blaine howls, almost. "God, that's so good," he says. "Right... there." One hand grips Kurt's ass, urging him in and harder. "So good," he mutters over and over, a litany. 

"Just, ah, my -- husbandly duties," Kurt ekes out. He's getting so close. He pushes Blaine's legs up farther, as best he can, wanting more, wanting to be closer, and Blaine's legs keep going up and up, the backs of his knees pressed into Kurt's shoulders, and his flexibility alone is arousing to Kurt. 

He's wildly pumping into Blaine now, he's untethered, and Blaine is whispering into his ear, "You feel so good, you're gonna make me come, I want you to fill me up" -- and that's it for him, coming with a yell, then a groan, utterly spent as his orgasm sharply spikes and then sets him down, gently, back on firm ground.

He goes to pull out, reluctantly, but Blaine keeps at his grip on his dick. "Almost," he says through gritted teeth. Kurt kisses him, that beautiful face so close to the brink, and gives a few feeble thrusts into him. It's enough to get Blaine there and he comes with a truly loud moan, "Kurt" on his lips.

Kurt disentangles then, holding on to the condom with one hand, easing out as Blaine winces, lowering his legs. "I'm going to feel this in the morning," he says quietly, smiling. Kurt smiles back and kisses him, then gets up on shaky legs. 

He's back in the bathroom to dispose of the condom, which he does discreetly, then cleans himself up. As he goes, he looks at his reflection again. His hair is a wreck, he has a hickey on his chest, and his abdomen is painted with Blaine's semen. And he's glowing, maybe, a little. He wets a washcloth and goes back out to Blaine once he's tidied, and sees him in the lamplight. Stretched out and naked, having not moved an inch. He turns his face to Kurt and looks blissful. As good as he looks, Kurt's heart tightens as a reminder pops up in his memory: 'this is only tonight.' But another, more covert thought offers: 'take advantage of the hours you've got.' 

He gets back into bed and wipes Blaine down, kissing as he cleans. "Full service," Blaine says with a rough voice and a smile. He licks Kurt's neck and Kurt drops the washcloth on the floor. 

They go again; he loses track of how many times.

Kurt wakes in grey morning light. With a fuzzy head he takes in a bedroom he cannot place, but it storms back in pieces along with a hangover that sets in all over his body. He squints as the bathroom door opens. Blaine, dressed in pegged jeans and a short-sleeved button down that hugs his chest. He smiles when he sees Kurt, but in a second it turns shy. "Hi," he says softly. "I didn't want to wake you, but I have to go. My flight back to London." 

There's no morning in bed, or another go before breakfast, and the disappointment of this being the end of their time together sits heavy on Kurt's chest. "Oh," is all he says. Then, in a rush, "I wish you didn't have to go." Maybe he's breaking a cardinal rule of one night stands. Then again, maybe this wasn’t just a one night stand.

Blaine smiles with his mouth closed and says, "Me, too," sadly. He grabs his suitcase from the corner and starts wheeling to the door when he stops in his tracks. "Before I go, though, I wanted to see when you wanted to tell people." Kurt combs his mind. About hooking up? he wonders. He'll be telling everyone that he had a man this hot in his bed. "About us getting married," Blaine continues. Kurt laughs, the joke continuing from last night, but Blaine's face is stone serious. "We slept together. And all of that husband talk. I just assumed. I've never, you know, done all of that before..." He looks away, his eyes down on the floor, until he peeks up under long lashes.

Kurt sits up, the sheet falling to his waist. He holds it there and solemnly replies, with breathy flourish, “I hope I was gentle.”

Blaine looks like a few retorts are poised behind his lips, his mouth parted open, but he only nods. “You were.”

“And I’d prefer to announce our wedding on Andy Cohen’s show.”

Blaine grins. “That’s great, I agree.” He drops the act and says, “You know, I actually know Andy.”

Kurt rolls his eyes, sitting up further and holding his knees. His back hurts. “Everyone knows Andy.” Blaine is so lovely in this muted light. He’d like to stay looking at him and talking with him for hours. But that’s not on offer.

“I -- I gotta go. This was. Nice,” Blaine says. He looks Kurt over, and Kurt watches his eyes. Those eyes, those glowing amber pools where men could go missing. Blaine takes hold of his suitcase handle again. "Bye, Kurt." He gives him a smile and a slight wave before opening the door and heading out. Kurt lays back down, willing his headache and the feeling of unexpected loss to recede.


	2. Here comes the spark before the dark

**Mercedes + Sam**

Kurt wants to stop being in motion. A nine hour plane ride from Paris, a layover in Charlotte, and another hour and a half in the air to Cleveland, all to be Ms. Mercedes Jones’s best man. It’s worth it, of course, but he’s exhausted. He walks through to baggage claim, feeling the drag of a busy few months. A family all wearing matching t-shirts starts slow walking in front of him. “Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, and does some stealth-like New Yorker weaving to get around them. He has a wedding rehearsal to attend.

He texts Rachel again: _I’m almost outside. Really fuckin hope you’ll be at the curb._

The truth is, he’s been a shitty best man. Yes, he procured a custom Jean Paul Gaultier wedding gown, even backing down on his strong preference of blush over white, but he hasn’t been involved enough. With all of his travel and work, he hasn’t been on top of what needs to get done or even the details of the wedding.

Which is why he’s surprised to see Blaine Anderson at baggage claim, holding a sign that says: FELLOW BEST MAN. He watches Blaine recognize him, a smile spreading on his face. He’s in a seersucker suit with a bow tie and Kurt can’t stand how adorable he looks. He waves and Kurt approaches. “You’re here,” Kurt says. “And you’re -- also a best man?” 

“Sam’s.” Oh. The details. The baggage carousel rumbles to life and starts spitting out suitcases.   
Kurt’s tumbles out fifth and Blaine’s eyes lock on the movement. 

“Any of these yours?”

“The red Chanel,” he replies, “but I--” 

With effortless arms, Blaine shoves in and grabs the heavy rollerboard. “Shall we?”

“You know, I can take that, I’m not a wilting daisy,” Kurt says, attempting to grab his giant bag from Blaine’s grasp.

“I know that,” Blaine counters, but he keeps hold as they leave the terminal and head to the parking lot. 

Kurt’s so tired he’s looped back to awake, so he stops fighting and says, “I can’t believe you’re here. I didn’t think I’d see you again.” 

Blaine gives him a small look that Kurt can’t decipher. “Is this a bad surprise, then?” he asks. 

Kurt shakes his head. “No, just -- overwhelming. You look cute.” Blaine bites his lip and Kurt wishes he was the one doing the biting. He wonders if you can blame overt sexualization of another person on jet lag. 

“Overwhelmingly cute?” Blaine inquires. Kurt stays mum.

The rental car is compact, so once his bags are stowed, they’re in close quarters, speeding toward the Old Stone Church. Kurt is itching to touch Blaine, but he keeps his hands squashed underneath his thighs. “I forgot you knew Sam. How did you two meet?”

“Ah,” Blaine says. “That’s a good story. We met at some fashion industry thing, when Sam was still modeling. I admit I was intrigued -- visually -- by him.” He shrugs self-consciously. “But we talked about music and his high school ex-girlfriend who was a singer, and I’d just heard a little about Mercedes at work. Unbelievable timing. We were fast friends. We left that party to drink beer and play videogames.” Kurt smiles at that image, of a younger Blaine and Sam leaving a fabulous event to go nerd out somewhere. He looks over to Blaine now, his profile so lovely. He wants to lick his face.

“Now I have a question,” Blaine says. Kurt keeps his head turned, laying the side of his face against the headrest. Maybe he’s looping back to tired again. “What were you doing in Paris?”

“I work for Vogue. I didn't know if you knew that. We didn’t really talk about work last time. Too… busy.” Blaine cracks a smile and Kurt pushes on. “I work with Isabelle Wright -- who I assume you know, because you are gay and well dressed. I’m her assistant editor, but I’ve also been helping her launch her new line. We did a whole Euro swing to meet with buyers and do some press, dress some ingenues for film premieres.” He yawns. “It sounds glamorous but was mostly grueling.”

“For the record,” Blaine says, “I do know who Isabelle Wright is, and that does sound glamorous. Have you met Cate Blanchett?” 

He did once, at a dinner, trying to Photoshop her face with his mind. Too much bronzer. He nods his answer but doesn’t elaborate, only asking, “Why her in particular?”

Blaine rocks his head back and forth. “Probably because of that iconic cover, with that ivory satin gown. I remember looking at my mom’s copy when I was ten and realizing I was gay. Because she was beautiful, and I was looking at the gown.” He taps Kurt’s knee as they stop at a light and says, “I’m mostly kidding.” But Kurt can’t really hear him because that spark of touch inflamed his leg and is threatening to engulf his whole person. “Also, because, you know, Galadriel. I’m a nerd.” Kurt has no idea what that means, but again, engulfed. He nods and attempts a smile, because that seems like an appropriate response. “But that’s so exciting about Isabelle. Her work is beautiful. I’m sure you’re helping so much.”

They're leaving the highway and heading onto local city roads. Being in constant movement isn't so bad, if you have the right traveling partner. "And you? Music producing? In London?"

Blaine nods slowly. "Yup. Probably as glamorous-sounding as you. Grueling is a good word. It's a lot of travel, then time in the studio. Late nights. No balance in my life. And I miss performing." He scrubs at his eyes with a fist. "Wah, wah. Tell me more about you, I want to know everything about you." Blaine shoots him a look that simmers.

He's not sure what to say, but it doesn't matter anyway, because they're at the church and need to haul ass inside. It's gorgeous, very Parisian with vaulted ceilings. Majestic, maybe, but he's running down the aisle to Mercedes and not paying attention to much else. "Fuck, I'm so sorry," he says when he reaches her. "You look incredible!" She's wearing a red slinky dress with an A-line skirt and one long, loose ruffle at her bosom. 

She folds him into a hug and whispers into his ear, "If you're late tomorrow, I'm gonna bust your ass." 

She pulls back and they get back to the rehearsal, presided over by Joe -- another detail surprise. He gives Kurt a grin and continues stumbling through his notes; he keeps telling everyone this is his first wedding.

Rachel gives Kurt a nod. "Did you like your surprise?" she whispers with a nudge. She's so gross. He turns his head forward and grins, hoping no one can see, especially the other best man.

The rehearsal dinner is also at the reception venue, the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. The glass pyramid is quite a sight and he's impressed, walking toward it with Blaine as the sun begins to set. "I don't know how they got this with such short notice," he marvels aloud. 

"Oh, I helped," Blaine replies. "I know Jann Wenner a little." 

Kurt is impressed, but he snickers too. "Don't trip over the name you just dropped." 

Blaine puts up a hand and an objection. "Hey, didn't you mention Isabelle Wright earlier? And I know about Mercedes's dress. Nothing wrong with some string pulling if it's for friends." He's right, of course, and Kurt is proud to have clout of any kind. He was teasing, because he can't push Blaine down on the playground.

The dinner is gorgeous, with twilight painting the windowed ceiling of the space, and beautiful lighting and shades of blue everywhere. He couldn't have done it better himself. He's seated with others in the wedding party -- Rachel, Artie, Sam’s brother Stevie and his sister Stacey, and Mercedes’s brother and his wife -- and across from the most handsome man he's ever bedded. He wonders if his desire is scenting the air.

He doesn't wonder for too long, though, because Sam is tapping on his glass, standing. "Hi everyone. I'm not sure why I'm speaking, it's not really my thing, but Mercedes asked, and I don't really say no to her." Kurt looks at her now, beaming up at Sam, so largely he fears her face might break. She's beatific. "We're so happy to be here with our family and friends." He raises his glass toward their table. "Especially Blaine. He's the best bro I've ever had, but that he can also call in favors to the editor of _Rolling Stone_ , and figure out color schemes, and also keep up with me in Madden -- well, he's a keeper, and a lifesaver. Love you, man." Blaine tips his glass back at Sam, unbearably adorable.

"The past few months have been amazing," Sam continues. "Being at Mercedes's side as she tours, doing something she was meant to do. I've worked hard to figure out what I want in life, but what I've finally learned is that what I really want, and all I've ever wanted, is to spend my life loving Mercedes." He bends to kiss her, and she grasps at his cheeks with both hands, holding him in place. He straightens up, clearing his throat. "Blaine may have given me that line, too. Told you he was good. Anyway, thanks for joining us and supporting us." He raises his glass and everyone follows suit. Clangs ring out and Kurt looks across the table to the man of the hour. They catch eyes and Kurt doesn't look away.

There's dancing after dinner, of course, but Kurt can only hang in there for a short time, bopping around to a remix of Tegan and Sara’s “Closer.” Paris time still feels very real. He yawns one last time before bidding farewell to his friends, and escaping outside to fresh air. He's scrolling on his phone for directions when he hears, "Don't forget about me." His heart hears the voice first and jumps, turning to that familiar face. Blaine is closing in on him with a saucy grin, his hair slightly askew, his cheeks rosy, and Kurt might be tired but he's not dead. He presses forward and kisses Blaine, sweet and soft but then rougher, a hand tangling in those curls. 

Blaine goes still and gently disconnects. "I just -- I meant your bag. It's in my rental. I can drive you somewhere?" 

Kurt feels rebuffed, or, at least he thinks he should feel that way. More importantly, though, “How the hell did I forget about my stuff?” he asks rhetorically. “I love my stuff.” Despite the narrow distance between them, Blaine might as well be touching him. There’s so much intimacy there, despite Blaine’s blockade. They fall in step and walk to the parking lot. “I’m sorry about… that,” Kurt attempts. “It was just a one-time thing between us, and I shouldn’t have.” He finds he can’t finish that sentence because he doesn’t want to. He’s not sorry, and he wants to do it again.

“I’m engaged,” Blaine says.

Kurt finds himself blinking a lot, pricked with shock. Engaged. Soon to be married. Taken. 

The shift is swift and he replies coolly, “Congratulations. I should get my bag and go.” 

He hears Blaine sigh at his side. “I feel really weird about this, Kurt. I like you a lot--” 

“You don’t know me, Blaine,” Kurt interrupts. “And you don’t owe me anything.” His shell is still on as he says, “We had fun, I thought we could have more fun, but you’re tied up. So.” He picks up the pace. “Is the car a maroon, or more of a rust--”

There’s no more talking because Blaine leans in and kisses him, one hand pulling at his jaw. Kurt lets him, but eventually pushes him away with feeble arms. “I can’t go around kissing someone else’s man,” Kurt says sorrowfully. 

“Kurt,” Blaine says brokenly from behind him, and Kurt stops in his tracks underneath a streetlight. Blaine’s face becomes more visible in the light, but it’s still largely unreadable. He moves in to share the lamplight with Kurt and presses his forehead against his. They share a breath. 

“Maybe I should’ve kept life simple,” Kurt says, not moving. “Mercedes is only going to sleep with one man her whole life.” It’s dizzying to be this close to Blaine. 

Blaine shrugs and replies, “Nothing, including that, is ever simple.” He leans back, looking in Kurt’s eyes. He’s trying to say something, but Kurt’s not sure what it is. He takes Blaine’s hand, because he wants to feel close to him, even if this is all there can be. 

“I have to go to sleep,” he tells him, and Blaine nods absently. They find the car and Kurt reluctantly lets go of his hand. He walks himself over to the Westin, checks in, and falls asleep on the bed in his clothes.

When he wakes the next morning, Rachel is snuggled into his side. “There are two double beds in this room,” he reminds her, but she snores and stays put. He looks over to the clock. 10:34. His phone is dead. Fuck. He shakes Rachel and she looks at the clock, muttering, “Not fucking again.” They spring apart and into action. He never dealt with his suit, so now he has a wrinkled turquoise suit and a magenta dress shirt with which to contend. He hangs everything in the bathroom along with Rachel’s bridesmaid dress, and he showers briefly, a shower there wasn’t energy for last night. He hopes the steam will make a difference in the clothes, but it doesn’t, and his shower experience is subpar. She jumps in after him as he carries out his skin rituals in the bedroom proper. He may stuff a few condoms and packets of lube into his jacket, but he doesn’t mention that to her or give it a second thought. They’re too busy dashing to church, where they join up with Mercedes’s entourage that’s just pulled up. He can finally breathe.

They queue up inside the church to walk down the aisle and he’s last in the party, after Rachel and Santana and before Mercedes and Dr. Jones. He walks on rose petals strewn by the flower girl as “Pachelbel’s Canon” plays him in, walking toward Rachel and Santana on one side, Sam, Stevie, Artie, and Blaine on the other. Walking down an aisle toward Blaine. He’s glad when he can turn to watch Mercedes reach the altar. Dr. Jones kisses her cheek very gently before shaking Sam's hand and sitting down with the female Dr. Jones. Mercedes's mom looks like she's fighting tears, while her dad isn't even bothering. So much love in their eyes.

Kurt turns to the altar and realizes Joe is sweating profusely. He quirks an eyebrow. Mentally, he sends him a message: _keep it together, buddy._ "Dearly beloved: I'm so happy to be here today to join Mercedes and Sam in holy mattresses. Matrimony." His voice is shaking and his face is pale. Kurt scans the audience to see if he recognizes any friends who are in medicine, just in case. His best bet is Quinn, but she skipped the wedding to avoid seeing Puck; that wedding detail he knows.

Joe is really eating it, stumbling over his words and sweating like he’s in a sauna. It’s painful to watch, so he tunes him out and looks across to Blaine, who looks like he’s trying his hardest not to laugh. He looks so gorgeous in his black tux with an electric blue bow tie, well-tailored to the contours of his body. His lean, hard, muscled body. Tight pants, jacket stretched across his built shoulders. Oh, no, his brain is rotting, and he doesn't believe in God but this doesn't feel appropriate in a church. Blaine catches him looking. He smiles kindly at Kurt, then looks down. 

He’s not one for religious texts, but he catches a morsel of Brittany reading from the Bible; it’s gorgeous. “Love flashes like fire, the brightest kind of flame. Many waters cannot quench love, nor can rivers drown it.” Poetry that he can get behind. She blows a kiss to her wife as she takes her seat.

The vows are up next and he’s on, to hand off the rings. Except. He doesn’t have them. He searches his pockets. He was given them last night, or at least he thought he was, oh fuck. He searches again: breast pocket, pants pockets back and front. Fuck. Blaine must have seen him because he gives a little wave to Kurt. He pats his chest, which Kurt somehow understands to mean that he’s got them. He sighs, his shoulders settling back down. Blaine to the rescue. Kurt pats his chest back, repeating Blaine’s gesture. That, somehow, makes him feel all the way better.

Joe says, “Please repeat after me, Sam. In the name of God, I, Evan Samuels...”

“In the name of God, I, Samuel Evans,” Sam says, smiling.

And it continues from there. Joe calls Mercedes “Merquades” and prompts them to say “this is my salmon vowel” instead of “solemn vow.” By the end, Kurt is convulsing with held back laughter.

Relief ricochets around the room when Joe pronounces them partners in life. Santana yells, "Bravo," and applause launches up. Mercedes and Sam kiss like nothing else is happening around them, then walk down the aisle arm in arm. 

The bridal party folds behind them, and Kurt offers Blaine his arm as tradition dictates. He takes it and hangs on. “'Salmon vowel,'” Kurt whispers, and Blaine laughs quietly, tightening his grip.

The whole party -- best men and bridesmaids and groomsmen and families -- all gather for photos at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame ahead of the guests. Mercedes, in a very un-Mercedes way, is all over Sam, pawing at him, hugging him, kissing him. It’s adorable and nauseating in equal measure.

Santana bumps his hip. “Hi, Pretty Pony,” she says, wrapping an arm around his waist as they watch the photographer capture the newlyweds. 

“Hi,” he says with a sigh, not bothering with a withering reply. “Where were you yesterday? The rehearsal dinner?”

She’s beaming and looking scared at the same time when she whispers, “Brittany and I are trying for a baby.” She pulls back a little to gauge his reaction, which is probably something like happy and stunned. “She had her first--” She wrinkles her nose. “Insemination. Ugh. We’ll see how it goes.” 

Practically, he can’t imagine Santana putting a child first, or how they’d manage a baby with their touring schedules, but now is not the time for a dose of reality. “If anyone should do it, it’s you two,” he enthuses, and hugs her tight.

The photographer pulls them all together then, and he’s positioned in next to Blaine, behind Mercedes and Sam. Mercedes turns around and flashes a grin, and says, “Love you, baby,” to Kurt before turning around for more photos. They hold hands for a few frames and his heart is tight with how much he feels for his friends. A blip crosses his radar, though, to think of who’s missing. Finn would’ve loved being here for Sam. His heart tightens again for another reason.

The reception in full force, he finds himself again with Santana, getting the full dish on the honeymoon until her mouth drops open at whatever she’s seeing over his shoulder. He turns and his heart sinks immediately. Blaine is hand in hand with a wiry, vaguely handsome man in an impeccable Tom Ford tuxedo. "Santana, I want you to meet my fiancé Sebastian." Blaine's gaze strays to Kurt for a second. "But I didn't mean to interrupt. Sorry. We can--"

"No, it’s fine." She leans forward and kisses Blaine on the cheek, then shakes Sebastian's hand. "Congratulations. I didn't know. Last I saw, you were at my wedding with--" 

"I'm Kurt," he blurts out, his volume one notch too loud, out of panic. He shakes Sebastian's hand. "Nice to meet you." Sebastian gives him a polite, measured smile. 

"I worked on Santana's amazing new album," Blaine explains to him, and Sebastian nods. 

"I remember. I hear it's fucking great, Santana. Good for you. My baby is the best." He looks between Kurt and Blaine, and slides an arm around his fiancé.

Blaine says, "And Kurt and Santana went to high school together. They were in New Directions. Isn't that funny?"

"God, high school was a million years ago, I can't even remember anything about it," Sebastian says. "Except for this guy, of course." He cups Blaine's chin and kisses him, which makes Kurt turn his head.

He doesn't want to know, but he has to ask. "So, how did you meet?" 

Sebastian takes Blaine's hand, the one that's wrapped around his shoulder. "In high school. We were Warblers. We had a whole tempestuous thing. But we grew up and fell back in love." Blaine's smile is tight. Kurt may not know him well, but he knows that expression is insincere.

"That sounds like a shitty way to start a relationship," Santana says coolly, a shark smelling for blood in the water, and for once Kurt is grateful for it. 

Blaine shakes his head and replies, "It wasn't -- tempestuous. We were in love. Then and now." He and Sebastian share a look, one stretched with honey and sweetness.

Sebastian shrugs out from underneath Blaine's arm and takes hold of his hand. "Come on, I want to introduce you to Malcolm. Nice meeting you," Sebastian tosses out before walking away, Blaine in tow. 

"See you two later?" Blaine asks over his shoulder.

"Douche nozzle," Santana says before they're barely gone. "What the fuck does Baby Angel Blaine see in that stickpin fairy?"

Kurt wrinkles his nose. "Not your best effort," he tells her, and she sighs. 

"Marriage has mellowed me, it's the worst.”

Mercedes takes to the stage then, luminescent still. “Hi, everyone. We’re so glad you’re here with us tonight. I want to sing a song to my husband. He’s heard me sing it plenty of times, in the car or as we’re taking a walk, even onstage with Ms. Beyonce herself, but he’s never heard it like this.” She gestures, and all the former New Directions leap up onstage. Kurt vaguely knew about this, but he’d missed the Skype rehearsals, so he stays in his seat to enjoy his friends. “ _Your love is bright as ever. Even in the shadows. Baby, kiss me. Before they turn the lights out_ ,” she sings, right out to Sam at their sweetheart table. They sing “XO” and it’s ethereal and loving.

After dinner he’s two martinis in, sitting with Tina and Artie. They’re talking about their new film project, something about robots in love, penned by Tina and directed by Artie. He notes their physicality, or lack thereof. It’s been a lot of years together. “So how do you keep it going? The romance?” he asks.

The couple shares a look and she shrugs. “He’s my best friend.” 

Artie tips a soft kiss into her hair, nodding his agreement. “Also, not getting married. No pressure. Just lots of love. And sex.”

Kurt looks out to the dance floor and sees Blaine and Sebastian getting down to “Do You Love Me,” doing The Mashed Potato and The Twist as appropriate, very much in sync. In love. “I need more of this,” he says, shaking his glass and taking drink orders for his friends.

He puts in the order at the bar and hears "Kurt" from behind him. It's an English accent, soft and swirling, familiar. So familiar he can tell the man is trying not to sound sad. "It's you," Adam says, and Kurt turns, taking in the tall, gangly, sandy haired man in front of him. As ex-boyfriends go, he's a stunner, but they didn't have chemistry. At least Kurt never thought so.

“It’s me,” Kurt confirms with as much cheer as he can muster. He attempts a smile and says, “Hi, you.”

“It’s good to see you,” Adam says, his eyes looking moist in the corners. 

Kurt heaves a heavy sigh and tries to smile. “Yeah, it’s good to see you, too.” Lying through his teeth. “How’ve you been?” A formality. The bartender is still at work on their cocktails and why isn’t she done yet?

Adam shrugs. “I’m all right. And you? Handsome as ever. Are you married to some gorgeous man by now?” He tips his head to the side and continues, “I don’t see a ring.”

All he can manage is the truth: “No, no husband. Still haven’t…” Met the right one. That’s what he wants to say, but he’s not sure about that.

“It’s hard to see you at a wedding,” Adam says. “I thought, perhaps, it would be us here together one day.” Kurt shakes his head as his drinks get delivered. Adam leans forward suddenly and grabs his wrist. “The thing is, Kurt, I think you’re in real trouble. You never let anyone in. You have a string of boyfriends and yet have nothing to show.”

Kurt flinches, stung, even if Adam is wrong. He puts himself out there. He’s tried to find his fit and it’s not his fault that it hasn’t happened yet. While he waits, what’s so wrong with trying out those who come along? There’s no other way to find him.

A sneaking, quiet background voice whispers: maybe Adam is right. Maybe he’s scared of getting hurt, and scared that he doesn’t deserve to be happy. Maybe he does hold back. Maybe he’s paying the price.

He pulls his wrist free. “Adam, you’re drunk. At least, I hope you are. Good night.” He walks away slowly then, carefully holding three drinks between his hands, feeling like a failure in everything but drink carrying.

Tina sips her Manhattan and Artie wheels off with his beer to dance with their crew. Kurt slumps against her shoulder. “Tina Cohen-Chang, everyone else has it figured out, don’t they.” 

Her short laugh rumbles through her body and into his. “No one knows shit, everyone is pretending.” She pats his leg. “What’s got you down, sugar plum?”

“I’m always going to weddings, and I’m never the one getting married.” There, he’s said it, put words to the sad thoughts in his heart. 

“You haven’t met the right guy yet,” she tells him soothingly. “You will. He’s out there.” 

He drinks. “But maybe I have. Maybe I’ve met him and I’ve screwed it up somehow.” Despite their long years with a rule against this, she strokes his hair. It feels good, especially as he watches Blaine and Sebastian walk out hand in hand.

The end of the night is nigh. He puts Sam and Mercedes into their car, with some parting whispers for her. “It might not feel good right away. Go slow, be patient. Make sure he goes down on you, though I have to say I’m fuzzy on the mechanics of that.” She rolls her eyes, but she does shove him away fast so they can get on their way.

He turns and sees Blaine walking toward him. “Hi?” he says. 

Blaine waves, smiling. “Hi back."

“I thought you left. I -- thought I saw you go,” Kurt says. 

Blaine shakes his head. “Just seeing Sebastian off. Late flight to New York, for business.” He has nothing nice to say about Sebastian, so he zips his lips and gives Blaine a tight smile before walking through the doors. “Come back to the hotel with me?” Blaine asks, with an open and vulnerable face. Gorgeous, too, but he can’t look.

His eyes divert to the floor and he shakes his head. “That’s not who I am.” 

He hears Blaine scoff and he raises his head. “And I am?” The truth is, Kurt doesn’t really know who Blaine is. He doesn’t know, he only feels, and he feels like he isn’t. Maybe that’s the truth. Maybe there is something more between them. Whatever it is, Kurt isn’t strong enough to turn down his heart’s desire.

It’s rougher this time, faster and harder. It’s Blaine riding Kurt, Kurt’s back against the headboard. It’s grunting and deep moans, and even though it’s only the second time, Kurt knows Blaine’s body. Knows when to stroke his cock, knows when to tease, knows to bite his neck to make him sigh. He’s fucking up into Blaine, into tight and hot Blaine, his mind drifting away as his body seeks release. Blaine wraps his arms around Kurt’s neck and finds the angle to kiss him with a mashing of tongue and teeth. “Fuck,” Kurt moans against Blaine’s neck. He’s so close. He feels like he's been close ever since seeing Blaine at the airport.

Kurt doesn’t want to come. He wants to savor this, because although he’s been lucky enough for a repeat performance, he didn’t think he’d have him again. He tries to think of other things -- skin rashes, roadkill, Dad and Carole having sex -- but nothing really works. Nothing cools him off, not with Blaine moaning his name and bouncing on him so perfectly. So instead, he gives in and goes the other way. He lets go and comes inside of Blaine, lets his orgasm rip through him, up into Blaine, where he wants to be.

The morning is his enemy. He speeds out of bed to get back to his own room, to shower and dress for the post-wedding brunch.

He almost gives Blaine a kiss as he leaves, a little departing kiss, but that’s more intimate than anything they’ve done so far. The kind of kiss you give to your partner on your way out the door in the morning. That’s not them, though, and he leaves as quietly as he can.


	3. Full of foolish song

**Interlude**

It’s the dog days of summer in New York, enough so that Kurt deigns to wear shorts while taking his Dad and Carole around. This isn’t their first visit to New York, so he sticks to the advanced NYC curriculum: The Cloisters, Smorgasburg, a Brooklyn Nets game for his dad, and the non-gay part of Jacob Riis Park in the Rockaways. He’s so happy to have a full stretch of five days with them, to show off his city, to lay down his credit card and fight his dad on paying for things.

After they get back to the apartment on the first night of the visit, he flips through his mail. A robin’s egg blue envelope, with gentle script curving out his name and address. He sighs. Another wedding invite. Inside it's even worse.

_Blaine Anderson  
&  
Sebastian Smythe  
request the pleasure of your company at their wedding_

He stops reading and throws it away in the recycling bin, but rationally retrieves it a second later, tossing it into his bill pile and getting started on dinner. 

The invitation haunts his thoughts between tasks, flourishing in spare moments of space between chopping and sauteing. Why invite him? Are they friends? Did Blaine not want him to feel left out because their mutual friends were invited? Is Blaine trying to torture him in a fancy and WASPy way?

His mind occupied, he cuts himself mid-chop. “Fuck,” he says under his breath, running his finger under the tap and pulling on a bandaid, and then he keeps going.

Despite having been there before, Carole insists on another Central Park trip one day, and he drops them off at the southeast corner. He’s been in a funk since seeing Blaine’s wedding invitation, and he’s trying to keep everyone away from him in his werewolf state. He walks past the glass cube of the Apple Store and down Fifth Avenue to Tiffany’s, where the happy couple is registered. He wants to poke the bruise, he supposes, heading upstairs to the home department and procuring a printed list from a sales person. A jazzy version of “I’ve Never Been In Love Before” plays as he reviews his options: crystal bowls, hand blown champagne flutes, a $200 sterling silver bottle opener, cobalt blue Venetian glass dishes, a bar tray for $1,800. It’s not that he’s ever objected to fine things -- in fact, he’s drooling -- but he’s surprised that Blaine cares at all about these generic, personality-less objects that only scream wealth, not value.

He thinks about his own registry, were he ever to marry, and how he’d want to fill a home. A thing or two from Tiffany’s would be nice, but he’s always erred on the side of DIY. He’d rather buy a vintage piece and restore it, personalize it, make it fit into his life. Everything here is so pristine and showy. The opposite of creativity.

He continues his assessment as he looks at the Hampton flatware pattern, until he hears an achingly familiar voice say his name. He looks up and behind him. Blaine, in navy blue shorts embroidered with tiny whales and a short sleeved chambray shirt. It’s a little sweaty in parts, but instead of being repulsed, Kurt finds he wants to lick him. He's then immediately, deeply upset to be aroused by the impulse.

Blaine’s eyes are bright and fond as he swoops in for a hug. He holds him tight before releasing him. “It’s so good to see you,” he says, his eyes crinkling. 

Kurt feels dazzled and can only ask, “What are you doing here?”

“We moved. Well, are moving. Sebastian got a new job. Here we are!” Blaine is smiling at him, but he can’t tell what else is lurking behind those eyes. 

Kurt clarifies his question: “That’s great news, but I was actually wondering what you were doing at Tiffany’s?” 

Blaine laughs. “I had to sign something. Were you... looking for stuff on our registry?” Kurt nods, his expression still, trying not to betray any other feelings. Blaine looks embarrassed. "This wasn’t even my idea -- just, get us an Amazon gift card or something," he says uncomfortably.

Kurt doesn’t want to buy them anything, but he nods and stuffs his hands into his shorts pockets. He looks down at his outfit: Paul Smith bermuda shorts printed with floating squares, white Zegna slip-ons, and a boring tee. He’s been feeling uninspired since he received the invite a few days prior. So blue, as blue as the envelope. He hasn’t been able to hack into his melancholy.

Blaine interrupts his thoughts and says, “I have to run another wedding errand. I'd love some company.” Kurt asks what it is and Blaine answers shyly, “Tux shopping at Brooks Brothers.”

Kurt is struck between what it is -- clothes shopping for a beautiful piece with a beautiful man -- and what it means -- making it a little easier for Blaine to get married to someone else. Fashion, and wanting to spend time with Blaine, win out. "I have a little time," he says. “But can we look farther afield than Brooks Brothers?”

Kurt won't say where he's taking him as they leave the Tiffany's maze. "We can talk about other things, right?" Blaine teases. "How long have you lived in New York?" he asks. 

Kurt talks about getting into NYADA on the second go, encouraged by his dad to apply again. He tells Blaine about interning at Vogue through the entirety of college, and how that had been the career path that stuck over music and theatre. It's always bittersweet to talk about how he hadn't ended up on Broadway, but, as he tells Blaine, "it works, because ultimately I love both. Both are highly creative outlets." He realizes as they're on the street heading toward their destination that he's just been talking, talking, and he so rarely does that. Blaine is such an active listener, Kurt has a swift desire to tease him for the earnestness on his face, but really it's so nice. 

"How's it going with Isabelle's line?" Blaine asks. Kurt nods as they weave around a group tour filled with old Asian people. He grabs Blaine's hand to help steer. 

"It's okay, a little slow, but there's been some interest in her renaissance, so to speak. It's nice to be busy." They're still holding hands, useful in navigating around Fifth Avenue tourist foot traffic, and he can almost imagine an idle weekend together, shopping and strolling, a universe where they're not between Blaine's wedding tasks. Kurt sadly drops his hand when they reach their destination. And anyway, it's not his to hold.

"Voila!" Kurt says at Saks Fifth Avenue. They walk through the department store toward the men's department, avoiding tourists in sneakers and fragrance-spraying employees. 

"So, no performing," Blaine says, but it's almost a question. 

Kurt nods. "Unless you know a record producer." He grins and Blaine rolls his eyes, but he's smiling. "Despite your protests, it does sound glam," he tells Blaine, then asks, "How did you get started?" They stack themselves on the escalator. 

"In college--" 

"Where?" Kurt interrupts. 

"Princeton." Kurt makes a note of that, and adds that to the Brooks Brothers love, as Blaine continues. "I was in -- don't laugh -- the Tigertones." Kurt can't comply with that request, and he doesn't. "I produced a lot of our work, in addition to singing. My friend's dad worked at Atlantic, and he got me a job. I learned everything there, you know? And then I hooked up with National Anthem because I wanted -- something. More. I didn't know what it was, but I thought by being at a smaller label, that would do it." He shakes his head as they disembark and head toward suiting. "I was always taught to keep striving, keep reaching for that brass ring, but I'm there. I'm successful. And I wish I'd stopped to think about what I really want." He suddenly looks caught. "I'm sorry to be going on and on. It's not interesting."

"Blaine, you could talk about shoe polish and I'd be riveted," Kurt replies quickly, then blushes when Blaine beams. They walk and Kurt wants to ask him what he wants, ask him right now, but he’s afraid to know. Instead he says, "This isn’t anything to apologize for. We all go through moments of… curiosity and unknowing. It’s a part of being alive.”

Blaine looks touched by his words, and nods. “That’s hitting me at the right time, Kurt, really.” He tucks a hand over his chest for a brief second, then drops it. Their moment passes as Blaine says, “Sebastian isn’t one of those people. He likes what he does, he’s driven, no questions,” and he gestures with one hand, like a chop. 

“How nice for him,” Kurt says delicately.

When they reach suits, they're offered champagne, which Kurt needs and takes like air. Their salesperson Hassan pulls a few different options as Blaine ducks into a dressing room. 

Kurt sits, sipping, checking his phone idly, then chokes when Blaine comes out. A simple black tux that fits like a glove. When he turns around, he does have those awkward clips tightening his jacket, but still the image is ensconced in Kurt's brain. "I like it," he tries to say, past the sawdust on his tongue. "It's so -- classic. What about something with some more, I don't know, joie de vivre?" 

Blaine puts his hands in his pockets and smiles. "And how would you define that?" 

Kurt finishes his glass and nods to Hassan, who himself is no slouch, and whoo that champagne is going right to his head. "I'd love to have more of this, please. And I'll come with you to look at your inventory."

What follows is a gay wedding fantasia of beautiful things -- chartreuse jackets, tuxedo pants with a plum stripe instead of black, delicate ruffled throwback shirts, and bow ties covered with sparkles. It's so lovely he can almost forget why they're really here.

Hassan, sweet Hassan with stubble and dark, gorgeous eyes, asks if his husband has found something he likes yet. 

"Besides me?" Kurt asks, playing along. Just for a second. Just for the one. "No, uh, he's not my husband, and -- I think my friend is being indecisive."

Hassan's eyes sweep Kurt's body. He smiles with plump lips. "I'm glad he's not your husband. And I'm glad he's taking his time." He wets his bottom lip this little bit. Oh, god, how much Kurt wants to give in to this, to flirt with this gorgeous man, but when it crosses his mind he finds he’s unavailable. In his heart, anyway. It’s a kind of rolling, gnawing shock as his body fights to process it.

Blaine interrupts them, sweeping out of his dressing room. "I made a choice!" His smile falters, but only for a second. "Uh, sorry. I'm all set. If you...?" 

Hassan nods eagerly, all business now. "Which one will it be?" 

Blaine whispers to Hassan, and when Kurt gives him a look, Blaine shrugs and says, "What? I want it to be a surprise for you." Blaine shakes Hassan's hand, one cupping the other overtop, but he takes Kurt's arm as they exit, and his heart thunders and his pulse hiccups.

Blaine treats him to coffee at Ralph’s, tucked away together at a table for two. It helps to sober him up after gulping down champagne. Blaine is sipping on his medium drip as he subtly says, “So, Hassan was cute. Did I sense something there? Did you sneak into an empty dressing room while I was busy?”

"No. Despite falling into bed with you a couple of times that's not really my thing." He tries to say it like he’s teasing, but it comes off a little bitter. He smiles over it to smooth it down. 

“What's your thing?” Blaine asks. His eyes are glowing so lovely in the late afternoon light.

“Monogamy, I guess,” Kurt replies, then volleys it back, “What's your thing?” 

Blaine nods his head, thinking. “I don't know. I like relationships, obviously. But I also like sex.” Kurt coughs on his non-fat mocha, but when he’s done he sees Blaine is giving him a teasing grin.

There’s so much there to interpret, so Kurt replies in the way that feels easiest, which is cheeky. “So how much do you like it?” he asks. 

Blaine raises an eyebrow. “As much as anyone else, I think. But also, you know how much.” He's flirting, it’s official. Unfair.

To cool it off, Kurt asks a question he doesn't want to know the answer to. “How many men have you been with?” When Blaine blanches, Kurt adds, “Ballpark,” to lessen any pressure.

Blaine squints and smiles. “Really?” Kurt nods. Blaine looks like he’s pondering. He's pondering for awhile. “I’m not actually sure how many -- well, instead, maybe. Okay. I was 16 the first time I did -- anything. He was my first everything, but definitely wasn't right at the time. Broke my heart.” Kurt burns for a younger Blaine in pain. “Then, there were a couple of hookups. And then a cellist who was, naturally, good with his hands. Um. Then college, and a slew -- a total buffet of. Cock. I was really into straight guys then.” He sighs, shaking his head. “Frat boys, soccer players. What a waste of time.” But then his face brightens. “Then my first college boyfriend, who was so nice and -- too nice, really, no spark. Then his best friend. So hot. And then a threesome, we all sort of dated for a little, but now they're getting married, so. I went abroad to England for a semester and met up with my first boyfriend, so that was him, again, and then we met another untimely end. Back at school, a closeted basketball player, who was truly gorgeous and. Hmm. Then another musician, that's when I learned how to top, like, properly.” Kurt wants to ask for a demonstration, but before he can even crack a test balloon of a joke, Blaine continues. “Another couple of musicians, I was kind of working my way through the department, um, then my music business professor. Then his son. God, this sounds awful all stacked up together. I went back to London to work and met the best guy. We were together for a few years. I loved him very much. It didn't work, he fell for a woman. And then I went on a tear of sleeping with every man I could, so I did, they weren't memorable. One was. He was lovely. And then I bumped into Sebastian one night out in London. We reconnected.”

Kurt has stopped trying to count. His head is spinning and he grasps for a question, the first one being, “When did you first connect?”

Blaine looks away and sips. “He was my first,” he says. 

Kurt tracks that: Sebastian the heartbreaker. Sebastian of the untimely end. And now, Sebastian the fiancé. It doesn’t add up, but Blaine seems that good a guy to reward poor behavior. This flaw only makes Kurt like him more. “Ah,” Kurt finally says. “So. Did you leave me out for modesty's sake?”

A fond smile fills Blaine’s lips. “No. You were the memorable one.” Memorable and lovely. He knows what they shared, that it was memorable and lovely, but to have Blaine acknowledge that -- “What about you?” Blaine asks, interrupting his train of thought. 

Kurt shakes his head and says facetiously, “I don't know what I've been doing with my life. Working, yeah, just working.” That makes Blaine laugh. His mind scans over his small number of hookups, which are mostly hookups that became long-term relationships. He's never been able to go out and fuck with abandon, because he’s in this quandary: he's looking for love. And, not finding it, has been disappointed in the institution itself. But he keeps going back to the well, hoping and searching.

His phone vibrates on the table, his Dad calling to say, "Where the hell are you? You said--" 

"Yup, fuck, on my way." He hastily hangs up. "I have to go," he says apologetically. “It’s my parents. They’re helpless in the city.” 

He shrugs and jumps up, and to his surprise, Blaine jumps too, saying, "I'll walk with you." They take off at a clip back up the street and to the park.

When they reach them, his dad has his arms crossed. “A head’s up would’ve been nice. ‘Dad, I’m going to be late.’” He focuses on Blaine. “Hi,” he says cautiously. “You I don’t know.” Kurt is dying. 

"Oh, Burt," Carole chides, but her eyes are lingering on Blaine, too. 

Kurt says, "This is Blaine, he's a -- friend." His dad raises an eyebrow. "He's getting married, I was helping with tuxedos." He swallows that last word with a lump in his throat. 

Blaine shakes his parents' hands and is so genteel, asking about their trip and heaping praise on Kurt. It's sort of too much for him to bear, he feels itchy and awful to have someone he wants but can't have being so nice to his parents, and Kurt says they have dinner reservations, even though they don't. "Pleasure to meet you both," Blaine says, giving Kurt a brief hug, and turning away to walk across the bottom of the park.

Carole's eyes are sparkling. "There's a story here, I know it." 

Kurt shakes his head. "Nothing but my stupidity." 

His dad nods. "That guy’s too handsome. Would make anyone stupid, especially you.” That sort of stings, but his dad is looking at him like maybe it’s a good thing. 

Kurt sighs and says, “I’ll be right back.” He runs to catch up with Blaine.

"Hi," he says, out of breath. Blaine, surprised, says hi back brightly. He can't let him walk away without letting his heart out a bit. Despite his better angels, he takes a deep breath and says, "I think I'm falling in love with you." It's so scary to say, but he says it because it's the truth, and it feels so good to be honest. That alone is incredible. The rest of it, though, is up to Blaine, and it's not going to go so well for Kurt if the sadness in Blaine's eyes says anything. Blaine himself actually says nothing, and Kurt fills the space. "Before, you were saying you don’t know what you want. And I wish. I wish I might be a part of what you want. Work and your life and me, apart of it. But. Anyway, I had to say that. I know it's not ideal timing, or."

He stops talking when Blaine brushes his cheek with his hand, palm open against his skin, warm and a little clammy. Blaine replaces his hand with his lips, leaving a sweet kiss there. "I should go," he whispers, slipping away. Kurt turns abruptly so he doesn't have to see him leave.

The park is bucolic at this time of year, lush and green and like you're not in the middle of the city. It's entirely lost on him.


	4. Baby, don't you know I love you so?

**Blaine + Sebastian**

This time, being late is indirectly his fault. Lauren Zizes needed help deciding on a dress, and they went with gunmetal grey chiffon. She looks amazing, like a super villain, as they dash up from the subway to street level.

When they emerge from the station below Bryant Park, they duck around the corner and toward the New York Public Library. He looks up at the majestic building -- its lions, its imposing architecture -- and groans. "Who even gets married here? It was a disaster for Carrie and Big." They clear the entrance and continue their jog through the lobby toward where staff are gesturing them forward. 

Lauren counters, "Nate Berkus got married here. And Oprah came." Damn Lauren and her pop culture recollection. Good for her new job at Jezebel.com, bad for being a comrade in grumpiness. 

They emerge on the third floor, underneath a rotunda covered with murals. He hears, "You may kiss your spouse," and sees Blaine do just that in a Tom Ford tuxedo Kurt helped to pick out.

"Fuck," Kurt mutters under his breath.

The guests are shepherded downstairs, past waiters holding trays of a signature cocktail: The Seblaine, a bourbon-citrus-mint mashup that is as delicious as this day is disappointing. He plans to drink many, many Seblaines. As they walk, Lauren takes his arm and tells him, “I have a secret.” He looks at her face, suddenly so girlish and bashful, so very un-Lauren. “Puck and I are getting married,” she whispers, and his eyes go wide. 

“What?!” he exclaims. 

She grins and knocks her shoulder against his. “Yeah. We, well, you know we’ve been getting more serious. And then I moved here and we decided it was right. He’s moving here next month.” She’s trying to be cool, he can tell, but she’s epically failing. “We’re going to City Hall, with our moms, and then having a party later.” She’s beaming. He hugs her in the middle of the staircase, causing a traffic jam and trying not to spill his cocktail on her dress.

He’s so happy for her, and them, but as they settle in at their table, under a beautiful glass dome in an elaborate room, he feels sorry for himself. He's not even sure why he came today. Maybe he was expecting a _Graduate_ moment to burst forth inside of him, sweeping him and Blaine away on a bus before anyone was officially married. Or, maybe he wanted to see it with his own two eyes. Blaine couldn't be his, and here was the proof that he needed to move on. The latter seemed more reasonable, and yet, he's watching him and wishing it was him up there. Holding Blaine, kissing Blaine, loving Blaine.

He and Lauren are seated with Mercedes and Sam, and Santana and Brittany, and a few former Warblers. Mercedes is next to him and asks where Rachel is. He frowns. "She's not always my plus hag." 

"Because sometimes it's Lauren?" Mercedes asks with faux sweetness. 

"How is married life?" he asks with equal saccharine.

"Speaking of babies," Brittany says aloud to the table. Santana's smile goes electric as she smooths a hand over Brittany's belly, nodding. They both look like they could cry. He feels a little like that as he scrambles up to hug them both.

During dinner, Blaine and Sebastian take to the mic. "Sebastian and I want to thank everyone for being here. It's taken a lot, and many years, but we made it. He was my first love and I want him to be my last. I can’t think of anything more romantic. I love you, baby," he says, that last bit directed to Sebastian, who closes the space between them to kiss his new husband. Other people who aren't Kurt cheer. Looking bashful, Blaine continues. "Being who we are -- former show choir gays who no longer perform regularly -- uh, this happened."

Blaine nods to the band, who kick up a bastardized Latin beat. " _You can dance, every dance with the guy, who gives you the eye, let him hold you tight_ ," Sebastian sings, looking longingly at Blaine, who finishes the verse, " _You can smile, every smile for the man, who held your hand beneath pale moon light._ " Sebastian moves closer in two waltzing steps, and sings, " _But don't forget who's takin' you home,_ " and Blaine half-embraces his new husband, cheating out toward their guests, singing, " _And in whose arms you're gonna be._ " Together they sing, " _So darlin' save the last dance for me._ "

They do the whole number with lovely choreography and harmony, but Kurt can't think of a more tasteless song. The inference of this number, at least in this modern gay setting, is an open relationship. If it was him up there -- but, he needs to stop doing that.

They finish with flourish, belting out together, " _Save the last dance, the very last dance for me._ " Blaine ends up in Sebastian's arms with a huge kiss, then gets dipped, and everyone goes crazy. Kurt politely claps and goes up to the bar for something on the rocks.

As he's crossing the room, Adam falls in step with him, smiling. "Oh, Adam, not tonight," is all Kurt can manage. He reaches the bar and orders a "gin and tonic, mostly gin." 

Adam puts a hand up. "I know I was crazy and drunk last time I saw you, but I'm much better now." He smiles at Kurt some more, looking indeed much less nuts. 

The Adam-related parts of Kurt's heart melt. "I'm depressed tonight, Adam. How are you?" He takes a gulp of his drink.

"Happy, with a gorgeous man," he says, pointing at an aging twink with dorky dance moves. The man waves and winks when he sees Adam. All things being fair, Kurt is an aging twink with dorky dance moves, too, so he gives Adam a thumbs up. 

Kurt is feeling all the booze in his system, and his mouth opens and he says, "Too bad we never figured it out together, Adam." 

Adam's eyes light this minute amount, but he shakes his head. "It would've never worked, not really. Your friends hate me."

"Oh, that's not true."

He gives Kurt a look. "Rachel calls me Rotten Apple." Kurt purses his lips. He'd forgotten about that. He giggles and covers his mouth too late. Adam laughs back.

Kurt's eyes catch on both grooms dancing with their moms. Blaine's mom is striking, she looks like his older sister. He wonders a lot of things about Blaine's family, but he doesn't know anything about him, not really. He must be delusional at best to think he’s in love with him.

He gives Adam a quick hug and goes back to his table. All of his friends are talking, but stop when he arrives. He rolls his eyes. "Nothing is going on with Adam!" But that's not it, not as he takes in their serious faces.

Mercedes's eyes are glistening as she says, "Honey, Carole has been trying to call you." He frowns and paws for his phone. Dead. Mercedes pulls him into a chair.

From the stage Sebastian is thanking their families and friends, and he's telling a story about boat racing.

At their table, Mercedes is relaying the news from Carole. "You need to call her right away, but she asked me to tell you. Sweetheart, your dad had a heart attack at home. It was swift." She's crying as she tells him his father is gone.

He sits there numb, as he hears Sebastian talk about how loveable Blaine is. How sweet and attractive. "Who wouldn't fall in love with him?" When Kurt starts to cry, he dashes out, and hears Sebastian joke about divorce. Kurt is on the next available flight out of New York.


	5. The broken hearted people

**A Funeral**

Ohio is beautiful at this time of year. The leaves are changing, painting the world with new colors. The air smells different -- crisp and fresh. He helps Carole pick out an outfit, a new one that's nothing like the one she wore to Finn's memorial service. She's lost so much, but is a shining example of getting through, and he looks to her as she lets herself sob or laugh or sigh. Whatever she needs, she gives to herself, because she's already had to learn how.

He dresses in a suit that Rachel buys him, slim but without noticeable details. He knows he won’t wear it again, so for the first time clothes don’t matter.

They clear out Hummel Tires & Lube for the occasion, but it's not enough room. The space is filled with family, friends, constituents, and colleagues, and people are spilling out past the garage doors. He stands up in front of the crowd. His dad isn't here, not even his ashes, but his father's prints are everywhere, in this space that he loved.

Kurt has written notes, on paper blotchy from tears, but he stuffs them into his pocket. This will be easier if he opens his mouth and lets go. "Hi, everyone. I'm Kurt, Burt's son. I wanted to say a few things about him, but I thought I'd start with what others said. People have been calling Carole and I to talk about how they remembered him. 'Blunt' was one sentiment. 'Simple,' like, a guy who doesn't care about the latest iPhone. 'A sloppy dresser.' 'Bad at hiding baldness.'" He looks up when he hears some chuckles. "But many, many people have called to tell us that you'll miss him. That you never met a more standup guy, willing to help at a moment's notice. 'No one loves his family more than Burt Hummel,' someone said. I can't speak for other fathers or other sons, but I think it's true." His voice tightens, and he looks to Carole. She's crying and smiling all at once.

"My dad is -- my dad was -- my oldest friend. My teacher. My protector. My biggest champion and advocate. My dad ran for Congress because he was spoiling for a fight, because we Hummels almost always are, but the truth was, it was my fight. He was fighting for art in schools and anti-bullying legislation. He was fighting for me, he always was.

"But you're here today because he probably fought for you, too, or made your days better in the staggering number of ways he knew how.

"When I think of him now, I'll remember the tea parties we had, him in a flannel shirt and a trucker hat. And when I came out and was so scared, and he said he knew and it didn't matter. He always gave me all the love and support I needed. But he won't get to see me grow older. Get married, have kids. That makes me furious, to think he's missing a minute of anything good that comes from my life, the life he made possible. Whatever I've done and whatever I do is only because of him." He has more to say, but can't possibly go on, with the tears lodged in his throat. He hangs his head until he feels someone take his hand. 

It’s Rachel, who's also crying when she says, "Kurt's friends were Burt's friends, too. We have a song for both of them." He watches as his friends move forward, arising in clumps or couples: Puck, Lauren, Quinn, Mike, Tina, Artie, Brittany, Santana, his ex-boyfriend Chandler, Joe, Will, Emma, Mercedes, and Sam. And Blaine.

They sing the most beautiful mashup of "In My Life" and "Let It Be" by The Beatles, and that's when Kurt sobs, tears running down his cheeks as Carole holds his hand tightly, like a vice tethering him to this moment. When the service ends, he's ready to go, but he has so many people who want to talk to him. He's weary by the time Blaine reaches him, but the feeling of tired fades when he sees his face. He falls into the hug Blaine offers, and there's so much comfort there. "I'm so sorry," Blaine says, rubbing Kurt's back. It's too much, it's too soothing, and he pulls out of his embrace.

"What are you doing in Ohio?" Kurt asks, his heart confused. He's here. That means something. But his brain is one hundred percent grieving, so it can't fully process anything else.

Blaine nods. "We, uh, we're here before our honeymoon. To spend time with our families. Anyway. How are you holding up? Do you need anything?"

There's a long list of things he needs, but nothing Blaine can offer, least of all himself, so Kurt shakes his head. "Thank you, though." He looks around and asks where Sebastian is. 

Blaine bites his lip, looking caught, and smiles timidly. "I'm a bad liar. I flew out here for the day. We leave tomorrow for our honeymoon. I just wanted to be here."

Kurt's stomach drops. Blaine clears his throat and says, "That thing you said in the street--"

"I'm sorry," Kurt interrupts. He had been way out of line.

"No," Blaine says, putting a hand out. "I liked it. I liked you saying it." He drops that hand to Kurt's bicep and it rests there, and then he kneads the muscle there, just this small, comforting amount. Kurt feels confused and plagued. Nothing about this is simple, at a time when he's already feeling so much.

He doesn't know how much time passes as they stand together, but Sam comes by and pats Blaine's shoulder, then wraps an arm around Kurt. The touch is not the same. To Blaine he says, "Hey, buddy, we need to leave for the airport. Ready?" Blaine nods absently before surging forward to hug Kurt, who lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Sam may not be an emotional genius, but he looks between them and suddenly gets it. His face lights, but then dims, looking at Blaine with a measure of confusion. "Let's go. Kurt, see you in a bit." The second he's left alone another person approaches to express their condolences.

Back at the house he escapes to the yard, looking over Carole’s flowerbeds. Quinn walks over with two glasses of white wine. He smiles at the sight of her, and accepts the kiss she presses into his cheek, and the glass. They look at a rose bush and don't talk. "I haven't lost a parent," she finally says, softly, "but I've had to say goodbye a lot of times in my life. It never gets easier." She takes Kurt's hand.

"Puck and Lauren," he says. "You seem okay with it." 

He watches her shake her head but then say, "I mean, I am okay. She can have him." 

"Ouch."

She smiles that small Quinn smile. "Honestly, they're a better fit than he and I were. She's just as crazy as him. I need something else from a partner." 

He cocks his head. "And what's that?”

She nods, considering it. "A nice, stable man with a professional job, who's gracious to strangers and keeps dick jokes to himself in public." 

That's definitely not Puck, but it lacks a certain... "Quinn, you don't want to fall in love? Lose your mind over someone?"

She shakes her head. "I've done that before. What I want, all I really want, is someone I can rely on, who's my friend. I've had the thunderbolt. It's not as good as it's cracked up to be."

He considers this as they look at the garden and sip their wine. "Maybe true love is foolish. Maybe it's not out there to be found," he offers. She clinks his glass with hers. He finds that he's heartbroken already, having lost his dad, and the words he’s testing sound logical and protective. He feels better. A little. A wedge. "Thanks, Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman," he says, and she pinches his arm in retaliation.


	6. You're every song, and I sing along

Kurt's alarm goes off, piercingly loud -- not his usual selection from a carefully curated playlist on his phone. He slaps around for the offending noise and finds not his phone but an actual alarm clock, the kind with small rounded discs on top like he's only seen in cartoons. He has no idea how to turn it off. "What the fuck," he whines. Then another alarm, this from a clock radio screaming conservative talk, then his phone, then Gaga. He lets out a yell.

Mercedes laughs at him from the other side of the bed. "Good morning, cupcake. It's time to get up. Big day today!" She gets out of bed without turning off any of the noise, and pulls Amaya Evans-Jones into her arms from the portable crib. Kurt sets about unplugging everything or making it shut the fuck up. "We had to make sure you didn't miss your own wedding," Mercedes says with mirthless delight. He glares at her. When he's done, though, he peers into Mercedes' arms, to that gorgeous baby with curly hair and light brown skin. Regular sized lips so far, to the relief of her dad.

Kurt stumbles into the kitchen for a jolt of coffee and sees Rachel there, making coffee but looking worse for wear. He sags into her hug until the machine bings helpfully, and he gulps down coffee with sugar and lots of milk.

"I wish my dad was here," he mumbles into his mug. It's been a year, and he always wishes it, but especially today. She rubs his back.

Mercedes strides in with Amaya on her shoulder. "What are you two doing? It's almost ten." 

"Ten?" he screeches. He races for the bathroom.

They pile into a car, which of course hits traffic on the way to the Brooklyn Botanic Garden, because of course, and he runs for it, past the Japanese Garden, before he hears Rachel and Mercedes screaming with laughter and yelling, "Kurt! Kurt!"

"What!" he yells back. "We're late." He takes in their faces and their laughing, and puts the pieces together. "Unless we're not. And you're fucking with me." Baby Amaya blows a raspberry. He bends at the waist, trying to catch his breath, cursing the day he met either of them.

His friends gather at this early hour, an hour ahead of schedule, in the pavilion at the edge of the pond. His co-maids-of-honor strategizing; Sam holding Amaya, comparing notes with Brittany, and with Santana who's playing with their daughter Lola; and Quinn, Puck, and Lauren dishing about Mike’s recent breakup. They're all drinking champagne without anything to eat, so that bodes well.

Rachel stands, clearing her throat. "I want to toast Kurt. Our long-suffering friend, who finally found someone to tolerate his neurosis and bitchiness. I will miss you as my roommate, but as people like telling us, we're too old for that anyway. Kurt, I'm happy for you. May we all have love like this, a surprise that feels right. To Kurt and Rotten Apple."

"To Kurt and Rotten Apple!" everyone cheers. He rolls his eyes.

**Kurt + Adam**

He's walking to his designated groom’s lounge, really just a small conference room, and stops short when he sees Isabelle. She gives him a quick kiss on the lips and he takes a moment to look at her handiwork -- a canary yellow one shoulder structured dress -- and her blowout. He nods his approval with one bob. “Good.”

She grins and laughs. “You have other things to focus on than me.” Her voice drops a level when she tells him that Anna is coming after all. 

His eyebrows raise. “What is Anna Wintour like at a wedding, I wonder?”

Isabelle shrugs. “Same as at a show. She sits in the front, wearing sunglasses to block out tears. Such a softie.” She laughs again. She seems so much lighter since Fashion Week ended.

She adjusts his teal pocket square, then his black bow tie. She looks over her other work for today, a three-piece dove grey suit that he first deemed too boring, but he likes that the look is toned down to compliment Adam’s traditional grey morning suit. Isabelle smooths one hand down his lapel, then gives it a tug. “Someday soon you’re going to strike out on your own,” she says softly. “I’m not looking forward to that day, but I’m excited for you. Like I am right now.” 

He shakes his head. “I’m not going anywhere, Isabelle. Except on a honeymoon.” Two whole weeks in Provence and Positano. He’s looking forward to taking a deep breath.

She waves a hand at him. “I know. It’s just, weddings make me so emotional. I should let you go.” He hugs her tightly, then takes off.

He's giving air kisses and hugs to other guests when he sees Blaine. Handsome as ever in a black suit, but looking tired. "Hi, you got the invite!" Kurt walks over and embraces him, loosely and quickly. Tighter or longer and he’d have a problem on his hands.

Blaine smiles as they pull apart. "You look great." He smooths a fingertip down the lapel of Kurt's jacket, then yanks it back quickly, like he’d thought better of it. Kurt’s not sure what to do with that and Blaine is continuing, saying, "But then I always did like you dressed for a wedding.”

Kurt looks into his eyes -- those beautiful warm, gold eyes -- then shakes himself out of their hold. "How's Sebastian?" he asks.

Blaine blinks, nods. "Fine. I think."

Kurt doesn't know what means, he only knows that's an unusual way to talk about one's husband. He doesn't pry, but maybe his expression asks the question.

"We," Blaine starts. "He… left. Well, we left each other." He shakes his head, looking embarrassed. "All that time off and on. We didn't work. He moved back to London. And I, well." He looks more broken than he did seconds before as he continues, "I figured out that I'm in love with you, so that didn't help." Wryly, he says, “At least I’m writing music again. Lots to say.”

There's so much to process that Kurt’s brain shuts down, reverts to power save mode. He shakes it awake slowly. "Why didn't you get in touch?" he asks. _He's in love with me._

Blaine nods. "I was in bad shape. I thought about it. I wanted to. But I couldn't. And then I got your invite." He looks away, shoving his hands his into his pockets. "I don't want to keep you. See you afterwards." 

He starts to walk away, but Kurt can't let him go, not yet, and he blurts out, "I'll show you to your seat."

He walks Blaine over to the spread of chairs set up in a grove. _He's in love with me_. "Our timing's been really bad," Blaine says quietly. 

"Really bad," Kurt clarifies.

It makes Blaine smile and add, "A disaster." He takes a chair at the end of a row and the sun hits him flatteringly, bright and fresh with morning light. 

"It's lovely to see you," Kurt says, 'lovely' being a pale description of what it really is. 

Blaine reaches out and Kurt gives him his hand like a reflex. "Good luck," Blaine says with a squeeze. "It's pretty easy, say 'I do' when someone asks a question." Kurt releases his hand from their clasp with so much regret, and walks away with a light head and a stomach like lead. Blaine’s words repeat in his head on a loop.

"Blaine is divorced and he said he's in love with me!" he exclaims in a rush once inside the room.

Carole, Mercedes, and Rachel turn. Rachel is slack jawed, Mercedes looks resigned, and Carole asks, "Who the hell is Blaine?"

Mercedes answers, "He's Sam's gay best friend with the worst tact of anyone on the planet." There's something in the way she says that. Like she’s not all that surprised.

Kurt turns to her, the wheels turning, and puts it together. Feeling betrayed, he asks, "You knew, didn't you?"

She grabs for the baby, even though Amaya didn't make a sound, and makes her daughter a shield -- a strategy he can begrudgingly admit is effective. "I did," she says noncommittally, trailing off. "Honey, you got engaged around the same time it was finalized. Blaine called Sam and told him about the divorce. And the whole story: that you two met, but he’d been burned by another guy, and he was scared. Plus, you lived on different continents. And then he got back with Sebastian, but he kept thinking about you past their wedding day.” Kurt wants to chew on her words. “Sam talked him out of saying anything to you.”

Kurt shakes his head. Now he has another enemy. He crosses his arms, eyes narrow, and asks, "Why?"

"Because you moved on," she tells him. "It was so hard for you, after Burt... and you seemed so content with Adam. We weren’t going to let Blaine disrupt that." 

"And you didn't think to tell me so I could make a decision for myself?"

Carole swings in, pulling him close with one arm. "Sweetie, it doesn't matter right now. You're getting married today, to Adam."

He shakes his head and shakes her off, and paces. Adam, who's given him so much. Love, support, affection. Backing away when asked. Giving Kurt exactly what he needs and most of what he wants. A good, solid husband.

Despite his beautiful suit, he crumples to the floor with his back against the wall, his legs sprawled out in front of him. He's in the room with two divas, so it's Carole that sinks to the floor next to him. He leans his head against her shoulder. 

"Do you want to get married?" she asks. He imagines Adam next to him at the end of that aisle and while it had seemed fine, it now feels all wrong. "Let me rephrase. Do you want to marry Adam?" 

He looks around and says, "We should make a pros and cons list." 

The pros list is long and effusive with praise. The con has one item: _I think I'm still in love with Blaine._

He takes off his jacket and gets into a handstand, his legs against the wall. The change in perspective does nothing for his decision-making process, not like he thought it would. He tries to find a system where Amaya can indicate her baby wisdom, but Mercedes is having none of it. “Maybe we should make another pros and cons list,” he offers weakly.

Rachel sighs. "Kurt! We're late now. We're holding everything up. What do you--" 

"Stall, lie," he instructs. She salutes him before taking off. 

It's quiet for a moment and Mercedes says in a small voice he hasn't heard in years, "I'm so sorry that I didn't tell you. You know why we were trying to protect you, but I get it now. We should have--"

"It doesn't matter," he interrupts. "But I get it." He's not quite ready to hug her, but he nods, a sealing of his words. Amaya starts crying and he picks her up, wanting the distraction. He sings Whitney and bounces Amaya, making silly faces. She takes it okay, warming to it as he goes.

Rachel runs in. "Okay, it's now or never! Adam is worried, he's going to come over if we don’t make moves soon.”

Kurt shakes his head violently. The quick jolting makes Amaya fuss all over again. "Fuck," he mutters.

"Plus, Jesse St. James is here, but whatever," Rachel says. She's flushed. He'll deal with that later. 

He’s feeling lightheaded from all of this stress and champagne, and no breakfast, so he hands Amaya over to Mercedes, just in case. “Does anyone have a granola bar or an apple or something?” he asks, and he’s met with blank head shakes. He sits, putting his head between his legs.

He feels a gentle hand between his shoulderblades and he knows it’s Mercedes. “Don’t think, just answer. What do you want?”

“To know the right thing to do,” he says, because it’s his only wish. He leans up a little bit, to try and catch Carole’s eye. “What would Dad say?” he asks. 

She gives him a sad smile and replies, “He'd tell you to be honest.” He puts his head back between his legs. It’s not helping, but it’s this small bit of sensory deprivation, especially as he squeezes his eyes shut. When he closes them, it’s Blaine’s face he sees, but he’s a risk. The potential of happiness with him is a risk. Adam is the one waiting for him. 

“Let’s go,” he says, shrugging his jacket back on.

There are two aisles. Adam and his parents are walking down one to an instrumental version of Michael Bublé’s “Everything” as Kurt waits with Carole. This song was Adam’s pick. Like of all of Adam’s picks, Kurt had generously acquiesced. “Which one is he?”

He points Blaine out and she murmurs, “Oh god, he is cute.”

“The cutest,” Kurt replies. 

Carole squeezes the hand she’s already holding. “I remember meeting him for a second. I've never seen you look at someone like that before.” 

He remembers that day, pouring out his heart and making a mistake. It had gotten him nowhere. “Lust isn't the same as love,” he says dismissively, speaking from the gate in front of his heart.

They walk down the aisle when it’s their turn, and she drops him off, kissing and hugging him, then Adam. Adam stands in front of him, beaming, tears in his eyes, and Kurt gets his first good look at him all day. Adam knows Kurt, knows almost everything about him. Adam would do anything for him. So many good qualities, and yet Kurt is numb.

Maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe it does. He pushes it away and turns to their officiant.

Madame Tibideaux begins to speak. "I feel so blessed to be here with these two men, men I've grown to know quite well as they bloom. They will continue to grow, and do it together--"

“I object!” Kurt hears, swiveling in fear and confirming it’s Carole. 

Carmen says, exasperated, “We're not even doing that.”

Carole stands and takes a deep breath. “I think he has doubts. I think he's scared. I think he's trying to be kind. But he's definitely in love with someone else, and I can't let my son do this.” She shakes her head. Very gently, she says to Kurt, “Honey, that's what your dad would've said,” and the tears form immediately in his eyes. Kurt whips his head towards Adam, who looks wildly bewildered.

Carmen asks, “Who has doubts?”

“Me,” Kurt says. And then, to Adam, “I am so sorry. I didn't mean for this--”

“How could you do this to me?” Adam asks, anguished. He’s so scary like this. Scorned.

Kurt blinks a lot. “Are the lights flickering?” he asks. “Carole’s right. I am. In love with someone else. But I didn't mean to--” He stops talking when Adam closes the gap between them and makes to do something like slap Kurt, and that’s the last thing he remembers before he faints and it all goes black.

He comes to in his apartment, with a tiny hand clutching at his cheek. When he looks up, he sees he’s in Mercedes’s lap, with Amaya cuddled up next to him. “What happened?” he asks blearily, but then it all comes back, crushing him like a wave. He groans, closing his eyes. “Oh, fuck. Adam.” Amaya squawks and he opens his eyes again. All of his friends are in the living room, in various states of formal wear -- shoes off, ties undone, or in sweatpants in Rachel’s case. He sits up and Mercedes gets off the couch, taking off for the kitchen after kissing his cheek. Carole slides in and puts an arm around him. “I can’t think about it,” he says.

“Poor Adam.” Carole shakes her head. “It’s all my fault,” she says, met with a chorus of “no” and “you shouldn’t think that.” Kurt wrinkles his nose and shrugs his shoulders. It is, kind of, but he’s glad. “I knew I had to stop you before you made a mistake,” she says. “Marriage is hard enough.”

Kurt nods and looks around. Jesse’s somehow here, tucked in close to Rachel, as is Mike who’s talking quietly with Quinn. Mercedes is making something in the kitchen with an assist from Artie and Sam, Lola is being mooned over by Puck and Lauren, and Brittany and Santana and Tina are huddled on the floor sharing a bottle of wine. If he had to fail so publicly and spectacularly, he’s glad to do it with some padding.

He offers to go out and get milk when they run out. It’s pouring, but he skips an umbrella. He can’t care. On his way out the building, he runs smack into a soaking wet man. He sees the curls first, hair that’s shaken off the hold of its product, and then his eyes focus on Blaine’s beautiful face, streaked with rain. Blaine says, “I got caught in the rain. I took a bus but then I got off too early and got lost getting here.” He’s sheepish, but Kurt can’t read what else might be there as he continues, “I wanted to check on you, but -- you’re fine. Of course you are.” He bites his lip and shakes his head. “I shouldn't have come today. Or, now.”

Kurt’s shaking his head as the rain pours down on them, soaking his dress shirt. “It was my fault. I should’ve never… with Adam.” Blaine is listening attentively, so closely, and having him here knocks him off focus. He feels vulnerable, and for the second time with Blaine he lets it happen. “I’ve realized something important. That I totally and utterly loved one person. But it wasn’t the man in front of me. It’s the man in front of me now.”

He puts a hand over Blaine’s heart, where his suit jacket is soaked and probably ruined. Blaine puts his hand over Kurt’s and kisses him so sweetly, so overwhelmingly, that Kurt can’t imagine feeling anything else ever again. That only lasts a second, as lightning pierces the sky and thunder shakes the air, and he jumps, startled. Blaine laughs at him with tender eyes and strokes his cheek, and he’s warm all over as Blaine leans in for a kiss. Magic. 

“I think this shirt is going to fuse permanently to my skin,” Blaine says against his lips. 

While Kurt has no problem with the look of a dress shirt clinging wet against Blaine’s taut body, he replies, “Okay, let’s go in.”

He takes Blaine’s hand, but before he goes, he says, “After we dry off, and we spend a lot more time together. I wonder if you’d agree… not to marry me. Do you think… not being married to me is something you could do for the rest of your life?”

Blaine gives him the most beautiful smile. “I do,” he says, before kissing Kurt again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My chapter names were based on wedding playlist fodder:  
> One, "Dance With Me" by 112  
> Two, "Closer" by Tegan and Sara  
> Three, "I've Never Been In Love Before" from Guys & Dolls  
> Four, "Save The Last Dance For Me" by Michael Bublé  
> Five, "Let It Be" by The Beatles  
> Six, "Everything" by Michael Bublé
> 
> [Always the Best Man](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1229191?view_full_work=true) is another Four Weddings AU, a lovely story by [Water_Nix](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Water_Nix/pseuds/Water_Nix). Our approaches to the AU model are different, and I'm so down with that.
> 
> And finally, I'm considering some lil drabbles based on other stories as yet untold, in the manner of photos that pop up during the _Four Weddings_ credits. Would you all be down for that? Leave a comment with any threads you might like to see pulled further!


End file.
